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Pedro Pascal - Blog Posts
this is the way
@thine-local-simpeth-again why is he so stunning
The fact that he’s not in my bed right now is a crime.
Everyone be thirsting over Pedro, I’m the one freaking out at the first look of a CLICKER in the background!!!!
druckmann: Stoked to share this preview of @pascalispunk and @bellaramsey bringing Joel and Ellie to life on film.
“A foundling is in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as it’s father”
“This is the way”
Rescued raccoon imprints on dad. (via)
Serious question to Star Wars and Mandalorian Fans:
Since Luke is going to take Grogu in as his Padawan, does that mean Kylo Ren is also going to kill him later on?
Please tell me no, because the thought alone makes me sad...
Has this been asked before?
UPDATE - RUBA AND IYAD (VETTED)
A lot of you will know that I have been trying to get more eyes on Iyad's fundraiser and encourage donations for the past few months. Now I want you to pay attention to this too:
Some of you may know Ruba from her previous fundraising attempts @rubashabansblog (now shadowbanned). Iyad and Ruba are neighbors who live close to each other in the tents. They are like family to each other. Both of them have run into major trouble both with GoFundMe and Tumblr (and in Ruba's case GoGetFunding as well) and have had to restart fundraising from 0 multiple times.
Iyad's family lost a total of 11k due to GFM deleting his fundraiser, Ruba's family lost a total of 27k due to GFM withholding funds. (overview of Ruba's troubles with fundraising here)
Ruba was recently injured badly and had to be taken to the hospital. Treatment was expensive and since they couldn't possess their funds from gfm, they weren't able to pay for it themselves. Iyad took Ruba to the hospital, helped her, and payed for her treatment. Since Ruba's family has no other way to access their raised funds, her family and Iyad's family are now sharing this same fundraiser:
Iyad's and Ruba's fundraisers have both been independently vetted by @/nabulsi and @/el-shab-hussein and are on their Vetted Gaza Fundraisers Spreadsheet. Iyad's is no. 177/173 and Ruba's is no. 94/90. Please keep in mind that these are their previous GFMs and have not been updated to their current situation.
$2,583/$60,000
Only 4.3% of goal raised.
Both their families are exhausted and have faced uncountable losses. Donations to this fundraiser have been slowing for a while now and it is important now more than ever to share and donate since this is now supporting 2 families instead of just 1, especially with the spread of even more diseases in Gaza and the scarcity of clean water, food, and medicine.
PLEASE SHARE + DONATE
Things you can get for donating:
-art wallpapers
-art commissions
You can read my previous posts on the developments in Iyad's situation on my blog in my tag #iyadsobhe and you can keep up to date on Ruba's situation on her current blog @rubashsblog and @neptunerings who has adopted her fundraiser. I also reccomend following @iyadsobhegaza, Iyad's personal blog, though he is currently not posting there due to being shadowbanned.
Now that watching Pedro Pascal be a reluctant dad to a magical child on HBO every Sunday is over, it’s time to watch Pedro Pascal be a reluctant dad to a magical child on Disney Plus every Wednesday.
Don’t ask me any questions. This has rotted my brain to the core.
Easter Bunny Pedro has a ranch of highly trained bunny’s that deliver the eggs and Tooth Fairy Oscar is a mob boss… for teeth or some shit, I don’t know.
I guess David is still just Santa.
For The Glory of Rome
MARCUS ACACIUS X READER
You're finishing your senior year at Orpheus University when your history class is chosen to give an evaluation on one of the professors. Why does he feel so familiar?
⚠️ Past lives AU! Reader is Geta and Caracalla's sister! Reader is also 22 years old, Pedro is older. ⚠️
The mountains were just visible through the window you were sitting next to; their peaks reaching toward the sky above, almost as if in embrace. They were beautiful at this wintry time of year, with the snow cascading down their formations and painting them white. Bare trees that flanked them transformed into branches of green where the cold hadn't hit just yet- your eyes traveling further down the scene. It was that transitory period of the merging seasons, where autumn became winter and left everyone with an odd illness due to the changing weather patterns. Both snow and leaves were tracked inside the bustling classrooms that were alive with the excited chatter amongst the students. Everyone was excited for the upcoming break that would mark the end of the semester. For you, it would mean the midway point of your senior year at Orpheus.
You'd gone to Orpheus all three years of your college career so far, immediately entranced by the large stone pillared building it was. It was so different from your usual pace in the rainy countryside, with its suburban feel and authentic restaurants. It wasn't immediately that you felt the urge to explore the grand halls of the place and to make it your home, but that feeling came soon enough. One glance at the psychology department and a sip of coffee from the bistro down the road were enough to convince whatever part of you left unsure this would be the place. Even with how far you had to uproot yourself and make such a move, you'd made the connections you'd needed and the friends you'd always wanted.
Lee had sat himself next to you this morning with a coffee cup in hand and his phone in the other. He was addicted to that screen- any video that would appear around his recent interest in Danish pop music would be enough to send him down a spiral of excitement. The coffee, however, was for you.
"Morning!" He said, way too chipper for an 8:00am class. He usually went to Starbucks way too close to the time you were meant to be seated with only a minute left to spare. How he didn't have crippling anxiety around his time management, you'd never know. But he did bring you a drink.
"Hey, Lee." You said, with as much energy as you could muster at the moment given how tired you were. "Thanks for the coffee."
Lee threw his bag onto the ground under the long tables in the lecture hall. His spot had been on the other side of the room for the majority of the class as he'd argued he couldn't focus if seated next to you for laughter purposes. However, today he plopped himself down into the one next to you with his notebook open to the most recent material from last week. His hair was a mess as he'd most likely not had the time to brush it but at least his pants matched his shirt today.
"Yeah, 'course."
You took a sip of the drink, wincing slightly at the heat on your tongue. He'd remembered you liked your coffee black.
This morning, you had your history course which was conveniently in the building furthest from your shared apartment. Deciding the added three minutes to your walk would mean a warmer outfit for the day, you wore a white button down with fleece tights under your skirt. You had to substitute your usual leather jacket in favor for a heavier coat but still opted to wear the full face of makeup you had on every day. Eyeliner was your saving grace and you swore you'd never be caught outside without it on. You weren't much of a "girly girl," but that beauty product was the one exception.
Your shoes were still a little damp from the snow and the water had melted into the bottom of your bookbag, to your dismay. Your notebook was mostly fine except for the bottom edge, where the pen ink had run together, ruining your script.
"Did you hear about the evaluation today?" Lee asked, with his arm outstretched, offering you one of the Starbucks napkins to dry your notebook.
You hummed in a quizzing tone, signalling you didn't hear about it as you got to work cleaning up the mess before class started. There wasn't much you could do about the few pages that had been destroyed, but thankfully it wasn't the topic you needed at the moment.
"Well," Lee went on assuming you wanted him to continue, "Professor Klotsbach had to officially go on maternity leave so they're giving us someone else for the duration of this year. Apparently they're having this new guy come in today and we get to decide whether we like him or not." Lee said, rustling through his own belongings. "The history majors are saying this is the fifth one this semester."
"Oh? that'll be interesting. I didn't realize she was out already." You stated, throwing the napkins into your coat pocket. At least that meant this class would be easy today and you wouldn't have to worry too much about the notes. You took another sip of your coffee and turned your attention back to the large window to stare at the mountains again. The sun was really starting to come up now, which would hopefully make the walk home warmer. The sunlight shone over the leaves and made its way into the classroom, turning the wood paneling into that comforting auburn color you loved. Even with the weather outside, the inside felt like summer.
You directed your attention back to Lee, who was now back on his phone. You decided you weren't too tired for a conversation.
"I wonder why they're so particular about a professor for a general education course?" You asked, inquiring Lee as though he'd know the ins and outs of how the administration worked. Orpheus was always a semi-prestigious university; you wondered if they did so many evaluations for all the subjects.
"No idea," he said, taking a sip of his own drink, "I guess they wanted insight from other majors as well."
"Ah." You said, thankful that it would at least be some form of deviance from your usual schedule. After this, you and Lee had plans with the rest of your roommates to go to the bistro down the road so you considered today an easy one. A listening lecture followed by a sweet treat was a great morning.
As you were thinking of your plans, the door on the right side of the room finally opened, meaning the professor had officially walked in and class was about to start. Lee put his phone in his pocket although he didn't turn it off, so you assumed he was listening to music. You scavenged in your case for a pencil that wasn't broken and directed your focus to the front of the room, where the evaluated professor would begin.
Your breath hitched in your throat.
This man had to have been about ten years older than you but he was gorgeous. The brown in his eyes and his hair shone under the sun with such elegance; he appeared to be a painting. His brown leather jacket placed stylishly over his buttoned shirt- save for the two at the top- and his dress pants neatly drawn with a belt. An expensive one at that. He looked less like a professor and more like the cover of a teenage romance novel. Even his facial hair was properly trimmed and accentuated the angular curves of his face, which widened into a heartthrobbing smile.
"Hello, I'm Mr. Marcus." He said, turning around and writing it onto the chalkboard with whatever chalk was left in the tray from the class before. He then wiped his hands against each other and stood in front of the desk, leaning against it in an effortless grace as he stared at the class. His eyes scanned the room before they fell on you. It was only for a moment before he looked elsewhere, but you were starstruck and your stomach flipped.
Lee snickered quietly at the face you were making which took you out of your trance. "Dilf season, huh?"
Your cheeks were flushed and your whole body felt hot. It was unlike you to immediately be so caught off-guard. You shook it aside and attributed it to intimidation. That had to be it, you were just nervous of a new professor and at this guy's confident yet inviting demeanor.
"Shut up, Lee." You said with a small smile, so he'd know not to take offense although you were serious. You didn't want to draw any attention to your heart beating wildly in your chest.
As he continued talking, however, the burning in your abdomen only got stronger. There was something to this man, some sense of familiarity that struck you defenseless, although you were unsure as to why. You were certain you'd never seen the man before in your life, yet there was an undeniable pull that rendered you speechless for the rest of the class. He was wonderful at explaining everything in full detail and perfect when it came to answering questions. One thing was for certain though, and that was there'd be no way you could focus on any topic if Mr. Marcus was the professor. Despite how well he performed his job, you just couldn't concentrate. So, when the papers came around at the end of the class for the evaluation, you checked the box stating your disinterest in Mr. Marcus as your professor. How would you be expected to learn in a place where he was the teacher if you were so flustered? All you wanted to do was go home and decompress.
You submitted your paper to the front of the room, Lee in tow. You placed it face down on the desk even though the evaluations were anonymous; you felt awful for the decision you made. How was it fair for him to do everything perfectly and to not be granted the occupation?
As you were about to turn towards the door, you locked eyes with Mr. Marcus. They were a golden honey brown, very similar to the warmth of the room you were in, and they had you entranced. He smiled at you and raised his eyebrows as invitation for conversation, which was when you realized you'd been standing there in front of him with open eyes for longer than you meant to.
"Miss (Y/N), did you enjoy the lecture?" He asked, calm and composed. He must've read your name off the seating arrangement sheet and pieced two and two together.
"Uh, yeah-yes. Yes, I did. I find Rome pretty fascinating." You said, trying to regain your own composure. You smiled back at him in a last effort to appear normal and then walked out of the room and into the large hall where Lee followed close behind.
Alone in the Lecture Hall once all the students had departed, Marcus let out a hitched breath. You must have noticed it too? There was something so off about you and he was immediately drawn to your presence the minute he'd entered the room. It was as if he'd bumped into you before, only this odd feeling of familiarity was far more intense than anything he'd encountered before.
He learned against the desk for support and reached for the evaluation papers. He remembered exactly which one you'd placed down as he counted the number of sheets placed on top. He was unsure as to why he needed this clarification so badly, as if the evaluation was going to be enough insight as to how you truly felt about him.
You'd written that he performed everything perfectly. Checked all the boxes showing the administrators that he'd done as he should. But, at the end of the form, you'd written you didn't want him to have the job.
He smiled to himself, just slightly. He must've been overreacting.
...
It was with disdain that his eyes followed yours, the vituperative look etched into his skin. He appeared no older, even with the worry lines becoming apparent as he frowned; kohl seemingly molded into the flesh of his face with its darkness around his eyes. His tunic adorned with goldened jewelry held his red cloak fastened at his shoulder, which swiftly moved side to side as he walked about the palace floor. With his domineering personality and flamboyant demeanor, one could argue he very much belonged here. But those who truly knew him, such as you, would argue the complete opposite. A child in the body of man, ruling over the Roman Empire with the ability to kill any one of the men who'd built the imperial palace with the flick of his wrist.
And to think, he was your brother.
Emperor Geta manically moved back and forth, his steps echoing in the greatness of the hall where the two of you stood. Your other misfortune of a sibling somewhere entranced by his monkey, you presumed. Even with neither of them being much too intelligent, Geta was definitely the force to be reckoned with. This flurry of anger he felt was often of your own doing and today was no different- although the situation was more dire than previous mishaps.
What was usual sibling banter had turned into something fierce, unforgiving. It seemed as though the two of you no longer stood on the same plane and no words could be spoken to alleviate the tenseness between you two.
"There's a traitor-" He began, voice laced with more anger than anything else now that the shock had subsided. "Someone is helping the Senate to conspire against us. A traitor within the castle?" Geta dramatically flung his fingers over his heart and buried it into the fabric of his dress, steadying himself from falling as if he were intoxicated.
"I've heard nothing of the sort, brother." You let out, hardly above a whisper. It felt wrong for the secret to spill past your lips after all this time of keeping it. Although this had been going on for nearly five months, to speak it aloud even partially breathed it into existence. You, who had no family other than Geta and Caracalla, were plotting the demise of both of them. Rome was a collective and you'd been appointed to preserve the democracy of the people- something your brothers had turned into tyranny under their rule. However, it seemed as though they'd just caught wind of the plot without knowing who was leading the rebellion. Of course, Geta would eventually figure it out but the best thing you could do would be to deny anything that would lead to you or Acacius. He would have his head by morn and yours by the next.
Geta focused his eyes toward the nearest column so as not to look at you, forcing himself to tongue over the idea as it repeated within his head. His ornate laurel wreath crown he wore glistened in the light from above, casting a radiant glow on the floor. He was beautiful, if undeservingly so.
"Geta." You started, still fighting the fear that was always prevalent when conversing with your brother, "You are the emperor. Who would dare conspire against you?" you asked, knowing you had to do damage control. It all felt too real and too sudden for anything to happen just yet, this was unplanned. There was still so much more to be done and now that Geta had heard, Caracalla would be next to be informed- potentially halting the senate from being able to make a proper move. Your brothers would behead them all and force you to watch.
There had to be an informant within the Senate, someone who sided with your brothers in hopes of some grand reward for ratting you out. If they told Geta of the uprising, there's no telling how long it would take until they knew you and Acacius were leading it.
Suddenly, it was as if the color returned to Geta's white painted face. The creases that had formed out of worry now resumed with a smile so horrid and vile that your stomach seemed to drop to your toes with dread. The redhead inched closer to you until he was standing directly before you, inches away from your faltering breath. Smug look upon his face with his hands placed behind his back, he whispered in your ear the one thing you never wanted to hear from him.
"Make sure to relay this message to the Senate. If I hear of any further plans or catch the name of anyone involved within the operation, I will make sure the streets of Rome run red with their excrements."
Your veins turned to ice. It was as if your body had become as still as the marble statues surrounding the two of you. The sunlight hitting your brother's hair was not a warm and comforting light, but the light of a thousand fires ready to destroy anything within its path. You could smell the antimony from his makeup, and it was churning your stomach the longer you stood next to him. And then, he pulled you into a forceful embrace.
"You're my brethren, (Y/N). But bloodshed triumphs over blood. My mercy doesn't spill out of my fingertips such as the weak do. I am to carry on the tree of my lineage and I will do so from the seed of my power. Don't let me ever hear my dear sister has fallen into the conspiracy of the people."
Then he left, and a piece of your soul died with the slam of the door behind him.
...
General Marcus Acacius, still clad in the paludamentum from the evening's dinner, gathered himself after a lengthy conversation with some of his troops. He was fortunate for the day's conquer, but he was entirely ready to return to his chambers to meet with his love; hoping she could soothe the grievances that emanated from his soul. A slight glance into the reflection of the gate showed a man worn down by war. Physically and spiritually he felt beaten and old. His face, which had appeared so bright when he'd first started his efforts, had now succumbed to the weight he felt inside. He was duller than the man he'd always been. A light had been extinguished and would never again be set aflame. His body felt as though it were an empty chamber, hollow with only the sounds of the maternal screaming he heard from war. Mothers calling home their only sons that would stay calling for the remainder of their lives. Praying for the boys who'd become soldiers, fallen under an empire that prided themselves on greatness.
The Romans were cruel murderers. And he did their bidding.
Trying his best to push his stressors aside, he stepped into the small garden flanking the back perimeter of the palace, knowing that was your usual place upon nightfall. The fountain seemed to hum as the water rushed down into the basin. The sounds of bugs chirping filled his ears. The calmness of the fire tamed within the confines of the torches made flickering shadows upon the stones beneath his feet.
And then, there was you. Turning to face him once he'd entered the palace and meeting his gaze. He'd sworn he never understood the meaning of goddess until he'd met you. From the first encounter at the palace, Acacius knew he was in love. Every statue and painting couldn't compare to the beauty that radiated off you, he knew. Your eyes were pools of mystery and your skin softer than the sheets lining the bed you shared, fragile under the callouses of his hands that were worn by the hilt of his sword. You were a delicacy. He thought you were more striking than the sun itself.
The word love would never be enough to describe the power that flowed through his veins upon the mere mention of your name or the gentleness of your kiss.
You were here in your usual palla, the purple dye of the fabric shimmering under the soft glow of the fire. Your face was hardened into a concerned expression and your lips were downturned. What was usually a gleeful expression when your fiancé returned home safely seemed to be just a little short of animosity.
Acacius immediately went to place his hands gently at your sides, pulling you in slightly with a quizzical look, assessing for any physical ailments. "What troubles you, my Lady?"
You wanted to cry, to scream, to let out all your frustrations through vile words such as your brothers did, but you felt so beaten down you couldn't even formulate the words. Acacius had done nothing wrong but be within your proximity. And now your lover would be subjected to the unforgiving wrath of Geta.
"My Lady?" He asked once more, softer this time. He had a rough day, you could tell, and his forehead lines became more apparent as his brows furrowed. His beard was trimmed but not shaven, so as not to flaunt off some of the scars he'd gathered below his nose. He had one on his cheek and one on the back of his hand that you would run your fingers over in an intimate embrace. He was beautiful, even with the years of war embroidered into his skin. He was your heart.
"It's Geta," you finally mustered, holding Acacius's hand to your cheek and letting a tear fall, "he's enlightened to our uprising."
It was the General's turn to express his worry. "How was he informed?" Hs asked, pulling you in for a stiff hug as he was still wearing his breastplate.
"Macrinus must have caught word after last night's gathering. W-we were so careful, I-"
"Shh." Acacius said, slowly rubbing circles into your back, "We'll be okay, we'll find a way." He said this almost so convincingly you wanted to believe it yourself. But you knew Geta would do his best to punish you in every way humanly possible. There would be no escaping.
"We can run away before they find out its us-"
"To where? We both have the faces of those known in Rome, we'll never even make it past the gate without our identities being revealed. And then what? Where will we go that has no promise of being conquered?" He asked, holding onto you as though your arms alone would ground him. "And (Y/N), you know my heart belongs to you and the people. I couldn't leave one in place of the other."
Any form of democracy was going to be dead if your brothers continued to be the ultimate monarchs the were. Their reign had caused nothing but horrors to the people .
"Geta may want my head when he finds out, but he'll never kill you," Acacius said, looking into your eyes, "He'd never kill our kin." At this, his hand dropped to your stomach, caressing the top of it gently.
"You will not die without me." You said, knowing what he would suggest in the hopes of keeping you safe. "I will not allow it."
"And then what? You die and there will be no hope. Not for the people or politics or our son. My work to free us from the grasp of Rome will be for nought."
Your tears started to cascade down your face as quickly as they came, taking your kohl along with it. This was unfair. All of it was unfair. You wanted nothing to do with your brothers or ruling or Rome or anything. All you'd hoped for was to live peacefully in a world without it- how foolish.
"I love you, Acacius. You know this." You said, burying your face into his shoulder. You took in the metallic scent of his breastplate, trying to ease yourself. You knew as a general that he would never leave Rome defenseless.
"As I love you," he said, moving you gently so you were facing each other, "You know what has to be done."
You composed yourself and met his eyes, trying to find solace in them. He felt more like family than the insufferable gingers you shared a bloodline with. And you knew you'd do anything to protect the family you made for yourself, even if that meant sacrificing the birth one.
"We have to kill them." You said. You found the words didn't trouble as much as you thought they might.
FIRST JOEL FANFIC I HAVE READ AND I AM NOT DISAPPOINTED 💛🦐
Feeling You
pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader
word count: 3.6k
warnings: david’s episode and themes along with that, reader is chained up, david is literally creepy and disgusting, reader kills a person, description of death, angst, joel cannot physically feel anything, trauma description, ellie’s aftermath of david, religious trauma, mentions of weapons
a/n hi season finale my life is over at least we got mando still 💪
summary Y/N confesses something to Joel she shouldn’t have when she saw him awake for the first time in weeks after his accident
masterlist
join the tag list
read time: 13 mins 10 seconds
The feeling of panic woke you up. The strange dream you couldn’t remember faded as your senses came back to you. It was cold and your head was pounding. The cold air nipped your nose. Your clothes felt like there was space between the fabric and your skin, you could feel the stinging cold prick your skin. You lay flat on what you could only imagine was a bed. It wasn’t comfortable whatsoever and only made your back stiff. Joel’s flannel from the night before had kept you warm enough to survive. Gaining the muster to move, you tried to yank your feet on the floor. Your right leg was cuffed to the bed pole.
Keep reading
I’m already living for this content
No, 'cause there is NO WAY im making it through season 2 of The Last Of Us!!!! They look to similar!!!!
I'm going to go K*ll myself now.
Lana Del Rey is my number 1 artist of 2023. Who topped your list? #SpotifyWrapped
Also wonder why I listened to this for 9,688 minutes... again *definitely* not pedro pascal
My top 5 songs of 2023. What topped your chart? #SpotifyWrapped
Ya know, I wonder what song 2,3, and 4 have in common......... Definitely not pedro pascal
Me/ Leon ID
That whole "thing" was a lucid dream, what the hell was Bad bunny doing there?
Joel Miller
- You don’t understand
-
-
You don’t understand
Pair: Joel Miller x F!reader
Warnings: angst,fluff, joel being a dick, female reader, y/n usage, child loss,cussing. Not much else
You meet Joel a couple years into the apocalypse and life since has been rocky. It wasn’t that you didn’t get along with Joel but you always felt like a burden to him. He rarely talks to you. It didn’t bother you that much. You just continued to follow. Two years after knowing Joel he finally told you about his daughter. You wanted to tell him you understood but he walked off not giving you a chance to tell him why you understood.
“Joel, Joel! Slow down!” You yell trying to catch up to his quick pace. Joel suddenly stops causing you to run right into his back. “. Sarah was all I had left. She died in my arms, they fucking shot her. They killed her and I couldn’t do anything besides watch her die. So no you don’t understand,you’ll never understand.” He sighs continuing to walk away from you before you could say anything.
~Few hours later~
You guys end up finding an empty cave to rest for the night. Setting your bag down you mumble a soft “I’ll take first shift” before walking away to the front of the cave. Joel watches you for a moment before turning over to his side and falling asleep.
After a couple hours of sleep Joel wakes up to see you standing in the same spot but a small blanket around you. He gets up and walks over to you and clears his throat letting you know he’s there. Turning around you look at him. “Ready to switch already?” Nodding he takes the rifle from your hands before asking the question you dreaded. “Whose blanket is that?”
Looking down at your son’s baby blanket you start to tear up. “ it’s my son’s blanket..” you reply looking up at him. “Where is he?” Joel couldn’t help but ask. He knew he shouldn’t have it’s not his business but his mouth was faster than his brain. “ It’s not like it matters right? I’ll never understand losing a child? Right Joel.” You sneer at him feeling angry that he even bright it up. “ I’m sorry I didn’t realize…I didn’t mean to-” “didn’t mean to what Joel. Come on spit it out.” You step closer to him feeling a bunch of anger hitting you all at once. “Fine you don’t want to say anything. I will. He was 5, I was with a small group that traveled around a lot. At first everything was fine except one day they decided to go through this building that they “checked”. You say in quotation marks tearing up while telling him. “ They didn’t check shit. We ran, but clickers where everywhere. One of them grabbed him from my arms. I couldn’t do anything. My group pulled me away but I fought them off until I got to my son. I ran with him in my arms. I knew he was bit but I didn’t let him go I couldn’t.” You paused looking up at him.
“He was only 5 Joel..I had to…I wouldn’t let anyone else do it..I killed him..I killed my son.” You finally finish before collapsing. You feel Joel wrap his arms around you. Catching you before you hit the ground. “ I’m sorry, im so sorry. I didn’t know.” Holding you tight he whispers apology after apology. After a few minutes he doesn’t hear anything from you, he looks down at your figure, realizing you finally fell asleep. Picking you up he brings you over to his makeshift bed and pulls the covers over you before leaning down and kissing your head.
Guilt… that’s all he feels. Why did he push it? He didn’t know what went on in your life. Why did he think it was okay. Fuck. He feels like a complete dick. Rubbing his hands down his face, he sighs looking at you sleeping so peacefully.
In that moment he knew that he wanted to be wherever you would be.
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"bestie we are having you put down" I say as i look in the mirror and realize i spent 5 hours reading smut
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Soft Launches and Soft Tyres
Part 1: The Princess of the Grid
A particular kind of silence falls in a garage before a race. It’s not quiet with radios crackling and the hum of tire warmers and mechanics shouting about torque and telemetry. But it’s a kind of silence in my head, like the calm just before I let the car swallow me whole.
I live for that silence. That, and the smell of burnt rubber. I’ve never fit into any neat little box anyway—not the way people expect, especially not when I got into F1 at 19. People expected me to be the new kid, quiet and compliant. And, well… okay, they were half right.
I was quiet. Still am, mostly. I don’t talk back, I let the track speak for me. That was something Seb used to say. “You don’t need to be loud to be heard, Moni.” He was my mentor before he became everyone’s eco-uncle and left us… left me. I still miss his hugs. And Daniel, god, Daniel was like my older brother, but funnier and worse at keeping secrets. He once said I had “golden retriever energy disguised in a kitten’s body.” Which is both cute and slightly concerning, but very him.
Anyway, it’s been five years now. I’m 24, and things have changed. There’s a new wave of younger drivers, some shinier, and I’m not the “baby” anymore. But I guess I still get called the “Princess of the Grid.” Mostly by Lando. Once, Carlos said it during a press conference, and Lando won’t let him live it down.
My mother raised me, just the two of us. She worked nights at a hospital and still managed to drive me to karting sessions on weekends. It wasn’t glamorous. We didn’t have the money that most kids in motorsport had. But I had her. She never yelled, never cried in front of me. Just kept going. Quiet strength. Maybe that’s where I get it from.
My dad left when I was six. I don’t remember much about him, and the stuff I remember feels more like watching someone else’s home video. He wasn’t cruel, just... unfinished. He didn’t know how to stay, and he missed a lot of things: my first race win, my Super Licence, and my debut in Formula One. Sometimes, people ask me if we’re in touch, and I say, “No, but I’m sure he knows where to find me.” I mean, it’s not like I’m hiding.
I signed my first F1 contract at nineteen with AlphaTauri, back when it was still AlphaTauri. It was a blur—media, pressure, more cameras in a week than I’d seen in my whole life. I kept my head down. Scored points when I could. Learned how to breathe in that car-shaped pressure cooker. I was never the loud headline, but I stayed consistent. That's what mattered. The paddock doesn’t always reward consistency, but it remembers it.
I still drive for VCARB even now, and I like it here. We’re not the underdog or the top dog. We’re the kind of team that sharpens you and makes you better.
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Part 2: The Calm Before the Media Storm
Media day always smells like too much cologne and burnt coffee.
It’s a mix of waiting around in branded teamwear and pretending not to hear the questions asked in the next booth. My PR manager, Livia, clips a mic to my collar with practiced ease, gentleness usually reserved for bomb diffusers or hairstylists.
“You good?” she asks, smoothing the VCARB jacket over my shoulder.
“Define good,” I say, giving her a slight grin. She rolls her eyes.
“Smile. Be nice. Don’t swear.”
“Always nice. Almost never swear.”
“Almost being the keyword.”
She pats my arm and walks off, already on the phone.
The first few interviews are standard fare. Strategy questions, performance reviews, tyre talk — everything I’ve answered a hundred times, just repackaged in different accents and camera angles.
Interviewer: “Monica, do you think the team’s Q3 performance in Jeddah was a turning point?”
Me: “It was a data point. A good one. But one race doesn’t define a season.”
Interviewer: “You’ve been praised for your tyre management this season—”
Me: “I just don’t fight physics. That’s all.”
They laugh. One asks if I meditate. Another wants to know what I eat before a race.
“Toast,” I say. “Always toast.”
There’s a short break after the fourth interview. I peel off the mic and flop onto a couch in the VCARB media room. Isack’s already there, drinking a Red Bull while on his phone watching one of the videos the admin made us make on Instagram.
“You’re trending,” he says, not looking up.
I groan as I close my eyes to take the smallest nap a human is possible. “Again?”
He turns the screen toward me. A photo from last week, me again, blurry, exiting a hotel lobby at midnight. Someone had zoomed in on my hand touching someone else’s arm.
“Your mysterious shadow boyfriend strikes again,” he grins. “This time, people think it’s someone from the grid.”
“Great,” I mutter. “I love when my life makes headlines. You keep laughing, Isack, but one day, you won't even be able to pee in peace without getting on headlines."
He ignores me and keeps scrolling. “Also, apparently your ‘energy’ matched Pedro Pascal’s according to this fan edit.”
I blink. “What does that mean?”
“I have no idea. But I support it,” he says with a grin, and gets off the couch when his PR manager calls him for an interview.
I watch him walk away before my phone vibrates.
Groupchat: Who made this groupchat?
Carlos: MONICA.
Lando: Ma’am, why are YOU trending and not for overtaking someone???
Alex: Girl, you okay? Did you break the internet??
lewis: Princess, did I miss something, or did you go on a date with Pedro Pascal??
Charles: WHO IS THE MAN? Alex won't tell me anything.
Carlos: Becca won't either.
Max: I will find out. I know people.
Carlos: Moni. Seriously. Who is it?
Me: Stop spanning the group chat
Lando: We are not doing such thing, answer.
Oscar: We want to know?
Max: Does Daniel know? I bet he does.
Me:……
Charles: Young lady, come back here.
---
Sebastian (privately): 1 massage - unread
I stare at Seb’s message for a second too long. Then I press the side button and lock the phone without replying. The last interview of the day is with a lifestyle network—the ones who care more about what moisturizer I use than my racing line through Sector 3.
The questions start light.
“What’s always in your travel bag?” “How do you relax between races?” “If you weren’t an F1 driver, what would you be?”
I answer them all. (Sunscreen. Sleep. Veterinarian.)
And then
“So, Monica… the internet wants to know: Are you dating someone?”
There’s a beat of silence. Not awkward. Just quiet.
“I—uh.” I blink. “I don’t usually talk about my personal—”
“We know! That’s why everyone’s curious. There have been some pictures lately—late dinners, hotel lobbies. People are saying—”
I don’t hear the rest. My throat tightens. I nod slowly, a polite smile barely glued on. Livia appears out of nowhere, like a PR magician.
“I’m so sorry,” she cuts in. “We’re running late for a strategy debrief. Tight schedule today.”
The interviewer tried to hide their disappointment, but Livia was already guiding me out of the chair with a hand on my elbow and that fixed “this is fine” smile that PR people must practice in the mirror. Once we’re out of sight, she mutters, “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie. In the hallway, I check my phone again. Seb’s message is still sitting there. Still unread.
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Part 3: When the Internet Breaks
[Clip: ‘The Last of Us’ Season 2 – Press Junket | Interview With Pedro Pascal]
Pedro Pascal is seated comfortably and exudes his characteristic warmth and charm.
Interviewer: "Pedro, 'The Last of Us' season 2 episode 2….what an episode it was, it delves deep into love and loss themes. Has portraying Joel influenced your perspective on personal relationships?"
Pedro: "Absolutely. Joel's journey is one of profound connection and vulnerability. It's made me reflect on the importance of having someone who grounds you and brings light into your life amidst chaos, just like Ellie did for him in a daughter-father way."
Interviewer: "That sounds personal. Are you currently experiencing such a connection in your own life, maybe with a lover?"
Pedro: "Well, let's just say I've been fortunate to find someone who brings that kind of light and grounding into my world."
The interviewer raises an eyebrow, intrigued.
Interviewer: "Care to share more?"
Pedro Laughing, shaking his head, "I think I'll leave it at that for now. I don't want trouble."
Within hours, the internet was ablaze with speculation. Social media platforms were flooded with clips of the interview, and fans dissected every word and expression.
Twitter/X – Trending Topics:
PEDRO PASCAL GF???
"Someone who brings light" [1.3M posts]
Monica VCARB edit (soft launch??)
MONICA IS DATING PEDRO
PRINCESS OF THE GRID x INTERNET’S DADDY 😭
Comments under various posts range from excitement to disbelief:
“Imagine going home to the Princess of the Grid and she makes you toast while talking about tyre deg 😭” “She was quiet but had the rizz of a thousand suns.” “Oh my god. THE fanfic is real.”
Private Chat – Daniel Ricciardo & Monica Daniel: So. The internet’s on fire. Pedro and you?
Monica: He didn’t mean to I think He was just talking. That’s how he is. He gets soft and starts talking, and the words fall out
Daniel: That’s adorable. I’m vomiting a little, but it’s adorable. So it’s real? Like, real real?
Monica: Yeah. It’s been a few months now. Met him at an awards thing. He was nice. Didn’t treat me like a headline. Didn’t ask about fame at dinner. Just asked about my favorite books. Stuff no one’s asked in years.
Daniel: You deserve that. You so deserve that. But you’re freaking out, huh.
Monica : I feel like I’m standing on a trapdoor. Like the minute I smile too wide or hold his hand in daylight it’ll open and everyone will pile on. I worked so hard to be taken seriously. Being the first woman in F1 was hell at first. You remember. People said awful stuff. Called me Seb’s “pet project,” remember that? Or the “baby with daddy issues.”
Daniel: Yeah. I remember. I also remember you outqualifying half the grid with a migraine and two hours of sleep. You’ve got scars. Doesn’t mean you hide forever.
Monica: He’s older. People will tear it apart. Say I’m looking for a dad. Say I’m broken. And with mine leaving, I never really figured out how to not let that stuff crawl under my skin. I know it’s stupid. But I’m scared. Of the headlines. Of the comments. Of being too happy and getting punished for it.
Daniel: That’s not stupid. That’s human. But you don’t have to carry it alone. Talk to Seb, Mon. He’s worried. We both are. You’ve got us. You always have us.
Monica: I haven’t opened his text.
Daniel: Mon, you know you have to talk to him at some point
I sat curled up in the corner of the hotel bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over my hands. The room was too cold, not physically, but in that way hotel rooms are when you don’t feel like you belong in them. My phone sat in my lap like it weighed five kilos. Seb’s name had been at the top of my messages for three days. Unread. Unopened. But never ignored. I stared at the notification, thumb hovering over it like the screen might bite back. Then, finally, I tapped.
Sebastian Vettel [3 days ago]: Hey, little one. I saw the headlines. I just wanted to say, I hope it’s true. Not the rumors. The happiness. You’ve always deserved to be loved out loud, not in secret. And you don’t owe anyone an explanation for that. If people try to turn your joy into ammunition, that’s on them, not you. Call me if you want. I’m here. Always. 💛
It hit me in layers. I could hear his voice in my head as I read. His calm, that steady warmth he always had, even when the whole world was watching him. I didn’t cry. Not really. But something loosened in my chest — something I didn’t realize I’d been holding onto so tightly. Like someone had cracked open a window in my ribs and let the stale air out. I stared at the message momentarily before hitting his number and hearing the ringing sound.
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Part 4: Eyes on the Paddock
Practice day always feels like the calm before the circus. Except this morning, the circus was already rolling in. By 9 a.m., the paddock was alive, TV crews in place, PR managers buzzing like caffeinated bees, fans pressed against the barriers, phones ready. Security tried to keep a clear path, but the chaos was controlled at best. Sky Sports F1’s Rachel Brookes adjusted her earpiece and stood near the entrance gate, mic in hand, eyes trained on the team hospitality areas. She nodded to the cameraman. “Alright, we're rolling in three, two, one…”
“Good morning from the paddock,” she began, the signature warmth in her voice. “It’s Friday, it’s practice day, and we’re already seeing a few drivers arriving.”
From behind her, someone in the crowd screamed as Charles Leclerc strolled past in Ferrari red, smiling at Leo with Alexandra by his side. Moments later, George Russell appeared with Carmen beside him, both dressed like they had walked out of a campaign shoot.
Rachel turned slightly to the camera. “A few of the grid’s familiar faces are arriving with their partners today, a little off-track love before the focus shifts to race pace.”
Then the air shifted. It wasn’t loud at first. Just… aware. Phones lifted. People stood on their toes. There was a wave of murmurs, the kind that travels fast, faster than even a car down the straight. And then there she was. Monica, the grid princess, walked through the gates like she’d done a thousand times. Cool. Grounded. Calm with her usual sweet smile. Except this time, she wasn’t alone. Pedro Pascal walked beside her, their hands linked, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
Rachel blinked, then leaned toward the camera with a slightly incredulous smile. “And… Monica Cruz is walking in this morning with none other than Pedro Pascal. That… is quite the entrance.”
Click. Flash. Shutter sounds like popcorn. Monica didn’t stop walking. She didn’t pose or break stride. But she looked up briefly, smiled toward the crowd, and gave a small wave with her free hand. Pedro leaned close to her ear, clearly saying something only she could hear. She laughed, genuinely, softly, like no cameras were watching. Rachel, still recovering, added, “Well, that’ll be the shot of the weekend before the engines even start.”
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Author note: I had this idea and just had to get it down, even if it’s rough or awkward. I know it’s not perfect, and I apologize if the writing feels unpolished, but I hope the story's heart came through and that you enjoyed the concept. I’d love to keep writing and improving, especially regarding details and dialogue. Next time, I want to include more of Monica interacting with the grid and the other drivers. I hope this first part of the story feels like a good start.
I LOVE MENNNN
my obsession with men 30+ needs to stop (or does it)
Was anyone gonna fucking tell me that 1 theres a fantastic 4 movie coming out but More importantly PEDRO PASCAL IS PLAYING REES RICHARDS !?!?! DOSE ANY ONE SEE THE PROVLEM .....No?!?!? Am I The ONLY One?!?!? PEDRO PASCAL IS TOO HOT TO PLAY REED HE SHOULD BE JOHNY AND THE GUY PLAYING JOHNY IS JUST DORKY ENOUGH FOR REED THOSE 2 NEED TO SWICH NOW!
pretty people make me so angry like we get it stop looking at me with those big beautiful eyes or my heart might start doin smth
